


Speak no Evil

by YvonneSilver



Series: Exploring Morses prison sentence [3]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Canon Compliant, Episode: s03e01 Ride, Gen, Missing Scene, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Season/Series 03, Vague Allusions to Canon Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:42:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22681915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YvonneSilver/pseuds/YvonneSilver
Summary: DS Jakes picks Morse up from prison. Awkward conversation ensues.
Relationships: Peter Jakes & Endeavour Morse
Series: Exploring Morses prison sentence [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033869
Comments: 19
Kudos: 56





	Speak no Evil

Jakes had parked across the street from Oxford Castle Prison and was having a quick cigarette as he waited, leaning against the driver’s side of the car. He looked up at the parapets and shook his head with disbelief. Leave it to Morse to get locked up in a bloody castle. Regular prison was probably too mundane for a College Kid.

Not that the castle looked anything remotely grand. It might’ve been impressive in its time, but now the old stones were weathered and drab against the grey sky. With each of the small square windows securely barred, there was no mistaking the place for what it was.

The double doors were something impressive though. It must be a thrill to be let out of those. Jakes imagined it would be like something out of the pictures, those huge doors slowly swinging open to reveal a tiny figure striding back into the world.

The reality, of course, was disappointing as always. The main doors never even opened. At precisely 1pm a small door to the left of the main gateway opened just enough to eject a single lanky figure in a dark coat, and slammed closed immediately behind him. And that was that. Morse was a free man again.

  
  


Jakes had prepared himself for whatever would come out the gate. He’d heard the stories of what prison could do to a person. He’d steeled himself against the sight of Morse as a broken man. But the man who exited looked pretty much the same as the man who’d gone in. He was cleanly shaven, his ginger hair cut in it’s usual short crop, he even wore the same clothes he’d had on that evening in the pub. If he seemed to fill out the dark coat a little less than before, well, Jakes wouldn’t have expected him to _gain_ weight on prison food.

As Jakes contemplated this, Morse turned up his collar against the bitter wind, drove his fists into his pockets, and began to walk towards the busstop.

Jakes was a little disappointed. He’d hoped Morse’s eyes would light on him the moment he’d stepped out the gates. Oh well, no matter. He drew a deep breath. “Inmate!”

He regretted the joke immediately when he saw Morse jump. A month was a long time to be locked up. Just because he wasn’t outwardly affected, didn’t mean it hadn’t left its trace. Indeed, it seemed the eyes that settled on him were clouded over, not their usual bright blue, and it took a second for recognition to light In them. For a moment, Jakes wondered if Morse might ignore him entirely, if he might simply turn around and keep going, but luckily he saved them both that embarrassment and crossed the street to meet him.

“Jakes.” The hand he held out was skin-and-bones, and he refused to meet Jakes’ eyes during the lacklustre handshake. Jakes decided to ignore both those things and hoped that if he acted normally, Morse would get back to normal soon too.

“Morse. They let you out then. Good behaviour?”

Morse made a face. “Hardly. Not enough room in there to exhibit any kind of behaviour.” His voice was rough, but the words were as precisely chosen and delicately placed as always. Jakes could work with that.

“Did they serve you lunch before letting you out?”

Morse grimaced, as if he’d thought alone made him ill. “All anyone serves in there is time. Nothing resembling food I’m afraid.”

Well, at least his wit was still intact. Jakes decided to take solace in that. “Good, let’s grab a bite then.”

Morse hunched his shoulders, folding further in on himself. “If it’s all the same, I’d rather just head home.”

There was no way Jakes was leaving him by himself when he was in such a state. But he also knew Morse would never allow himself to accept that kind of pity. Jakes chose a different tack. “Look, I’ve given up my break just to come get you, just let me bloody buy you lunch.”

Again, Morse teetered on the edge of rejection, and it was all Jakes could do not to push his case. Finally, Morse relented, and walked round to the passenger’s side of the car without another word. Jakes rolled his eyes, stubbed out his cigarette, and got in the driver’s seat.

  
  


\------------

  
  


They hadn’t said a word in the car, which wasn’t unusual for them, but the silence seemed less companionable than it used to be. Too many things left unsaid drifting in the air between them. At least the atmosphere in the pub was pleasant.

It was a little after lunchtime, so it wasn’t too busy, but there was a radio playing pop music, and the soft conversations from the occupied tables lent the place a homely feel. Jakes picked a small table in the back, and ordered beer and mushroom stew for both of them. Morse didn't object.

Jakes lit a new cigarette almost as soon as they sat down. It wasn’t doing much to calm his nerves. He hadn’t just invited Morse to lunch to be a good Samaritan; he had something he needed to say. It would have to wait though. It didn’t look like Morse was very receptive at the moment.

He had shrugged off his coat and draped it around the chair he’d dropped down on, but hadn’t moved since. He just sat there, his hands clasped between his knees, his eyes out of focus. It was disconcerting, to see him so still. Morse had always looked like he was up to something, working on some mystery or another, but now he just looked… empty.

It became apparent Morse wasn’t going to break the silence, and Jakes realised he would have to be the one to bridge the gap that had grown between them. He sat forward. “We would’ve come see you, you know, but Bright said not to.”

Morse gave a half-hearted shrug that belied the bitterness in his voice. “Wouldn’t have been a good show, police officers visiting prisoners.”

The way Morse said the word, prisoner, referring to himself, sent a shiver up Jakes’ spine. He tried not to show his discomfort. “Right.” He took a drag of his cigarette. “Wouldn’t have done you any favours anyhow.”

Their conversation, such as it was, was interrupted by a server setting down two pitchers of beer. Jakes immediately took a grateful gulp. To his surprise, Morse only eyed the beer warily before dropping his gaze back down to his hands. Yet another thing that had changed. Jakes’ apprehension increased, and he tried again to coax some conversation out of him.

“I assume you had visitors, right?”

Jakes watched him weigh the answer carefully, and was rewarded for his patience. “Monica, at first. Miss Hicks. It wasn’t…” Morse grasped after a word, then settled on “helpful. For either of us.”

“Ah.” Jakes mulled that over. A young black woman visiting an all-male prison. He could see how that would be upsetting. That did raise a new question though. “I would’ve expected her to be there when you got out.”

He regretted the comment immediately as Morse seemed to sag further in on himself. “I asked her not to come.”

“Right.” Jakes took another drag of his cigarette. “Why?”

Morse looked up at him for the first time since they sat down. For a second, it seemed like there was open hostility in his eyes, but when he paid attention the look was one of simple wariness. “Is this an interrogation?”

Jakes was saved the formulation of an answer by the arrival of their food.

“Eat,” Jakes commanded, gesturing at the plate with one hand and stubbing out his cigarette with the other. “The stew here is good but only if you eat it hot.” He followed his own suggestion immediately. There was nothing quite like a good stew to warm the bones on a wintery day like this.

He looked up to see Morse listlessly stirring his food. “You realise you need to actually eat that, right? Not just push it around the plate? It’s good, I promise.”

He waited until Morse at least pretended to eat something before continuing.

“Thursday’s back home, have they told you?” Jakes said, trying to keep his voice light. He snuck a peak at Morse to gage his reaction, but he kept his gaze on his plate. “A week of bed-rest, strictly enforced by Mrs Thursday, or he’d have been here to get you. Knowing the old man he’ll be back at the station next week, mark my words.”

Suddenly, Morse sat up and snatched the pitcher of beer from the table. He drank like he’d found an oasis in a desert, not stopping till over half the pint was gone. That seemed more like the Morse he knew, but Jakes wasn’t sure if that heartened him. At least the drink seemed to have awakened his hunger also, since he finally properly began in on the stew.

That seemed like the opening Jakes had been waiting for. He took a deep breath. “They've closed the Blenheim case,” he blurted out. “Everything is to remain sealed for the next 50 years.” Not as eloquent as he’d liked to have been, but at least his cards were on the table now.

He watched Morse carefully, but to his frustration, Morse gave no sign of having heard him. He sat hunched over, quietly and methodically making his way through the stew. Like he didn’t even care how important this was to Peter.

“They've closed the case,” Jakes repeated a little more forcefully. “That means no more digging Morse.”

Morse didn't even look up from his food. “I heard you the first time.”

That wasn't a straight answer yet, but he knew Morse rarely gave one. Having been heard was something at least. He sat back and fished another cigarette out of his pocket in an attempt to calm himself down. “Well, I know what you're like. Dog with a bone.”

Morse huffed contrarily. “This one’s got its tail is firmly between its legs, if that's what you're worried about.”

Jakes had forgotten how infuriating it was to talk to Morse. Always so eager to show off his quick wit, but never forthright about anything. "Suit yourself," he scoffed, lighting his cigarette.

Morse mumbled something incomprehensible, something Jakes was sure would be insulting, and he wouldn’t even look him in the eye to do it. Well, Jakes wouldn’t let him off the hook that easily.

“What?” He asked testily.

Morse hesitated, but finally looked up with a gentler expression than Jakes had seen on him all day. His voice was still soft, but clearly enunciated this time. “You’re okay with it? With the cover-up?”

The question, and the sincerity with which it was posed, caught him off-guard. No-one had thought to ask him that. Then again, no-one but Morse knew how close he was to this investigation. Jakes took a drag of his cigarette, to give himself a moment to think. “I’ve buried it for twenty years. Digging it up brought no-one any good, you know that as well as any.”

“Right.” Morse nodded quietly. He turned his attention to the remains of his stew.

That gave Jakes a little more time to mull over the question a little longer. Was he actually okay with it? He supposed he was. He was ready to leave the past behind him, and move on to a better future. Jakes finished off the last of his food too. The tension in him was starting to lessen. Deciding for himself that he was ready to leave Blenheim Vale behind had lightened his mood considerably. and it seemed like Morse was beginning to understand too. Maybe the stubborn git would actually be willing to _l_ _isten_ for once. If not for Jakes’ sake, maybe for his own.

  
  


“I’m not staying,” Morse blurted out suddenly. He seemed surprised at his own outburst, but not nearly as surprised as Jakes.

He hadn’t anticipated the possibility of Morse leaving the force after what happened, and in that moment, he realised he wouldn’t want him too. Things had been too quiet without Morse at the station. And Morse couldn’t just quit the force, right? Anyone who knew him knew he was a detective down to his bones. Of course he wouldn’t just leave. Jakes began to relax again. Morse probably just meant he was taking a break. “Right. Right, good on ya. Make the most of your freedom, yeah?” Jakes suddenly recognised this as an opportunity to get back in Morse’s good books. “Listen,” he began, leaning over the table. “I can keep the inquiry open a little longer for you, yeah? Delay the paperwork. You won’t even need to take leave or anything.”

“Inquiry?” Morse said, his eyes widening. “I thought the charges had been dropped?”

“Yeah, well,” Jakes leaned back and took a nonchalant drag off his cigarette. “Division’s dropped its charges, but City was running its own inquiry of course. To clear your name.”

Morse made a sour face and reached for his beer. “Took your bloody time.”

Jakes’ anger flared. “What, you think it’s easy?” He snapped, leaning forward. “Getting Division to back off on an open-and-shut case? You think Deare didn’t know what he was doing?” He realised suddenly how aggressive he was being, and how still Morse had become again when he’d started shouting. He had curled all the way back in on himself, shoulders hunched, fists between his knees, gaze turned submissively downward. Jakes backed off a little and tried to stow away his bruised feelings. “We got this squared away good and proper. Least you could do is show a little gratitude.”

Morse nodded quietly. Jakes felt suddenly guilty. He hadn’t meant to shout. He hadn’t expected it to have such a profound effect. He tried to think of something to mitigate his outburst.

“Look, I think it’s a good idea, to take some time off.” It wasn’t an apology, exactly, but it was as much of an outreach as he could think to offer. “Do some birdwatching,” he added, trying for a little levity.

Morse didn’t answer, and Jakes found he too was at a loss for further words.

“I should go,” Morse said, standing up.

“Right,” Jakes said, relieved to be granted an out from the awkward conversation. He stubbed out his cigarette and hurried to his feet. “Can I drop you off anywhere?”

“I’ll make my own way.” Morse pulled a fiver out of his pocket and dropped it on the table.

“Hey, hang on,” Jakes protested. “I said I’d buy you lunch.”

“Peter.”

The unexpected use of his first name startled him into silence. He looked up to find Morse’s eyes on him, and a gentle look in them that stopped any further protestations short.

“Look, I…,” Morse began, looking for the right words to delicately explain what he meant. “I don’t blame you. With what happened to you. And with how it turned out… You were right to be scared.”

Peter began to protest, but Morse continued doggedly on.

“You don’t have to buy me lunch or, or drive me places. You don’t owe me.”

Jakes felt a flush of embarrassment. He hadn’t thought he was being _that_ obvious. He’d honestly thought he’d just do something nice for the bloke. Leave it to Morse to blow things way out of proportion. “Don’t make this bigger than it is. It’s just lunch.”

Morse smiled wryly. “Hey Jakes? Thanks.”

There seemed more to the simple word, and Jakes wasn’t precisely sure what exactly Morse was thanking him for.

Morse reached a hand across the table, and Jakes, dumbfounded, took it. Despite his hollow look, his handshake was firm this time. Then he turned around and resolutely headed for the door.

“I’ll see you when you get back, yeah?” Jakes called out at the last moment.

Morse looked back over his shoulder, a forlorn expression on his face. Then he turned, and the door fell shut behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Fic #2 exploring (characters reacting to) Morse's time in prison. I'm pretty sure there's at least one more of these in me, stay tuned. This whole prison thing FASCINATES me so if anyone wants to rec me any other fics about Neverland/Ride HIT ME UP!


End file.
